


Ink

by snarkasaurus



Category: Bandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Tattoo Parlor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-28
Updated: 2018-12-28
Packaged: 2019-09-29 10:59:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17202248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snarkasaurus/pseuds/snarkasaurus
Summary: Brendon is a tattoo artist and Spencer is his new client. A sweet bit of tattoo shop AU fluff





	Ink

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sullenhearts](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sullenhearts/gifts).



> Thank you, G, for your quick and timely beta!! All remaining errors are mine and mine alone. 
> 
> Please acknowledge how handwavy this is in terms of how fast tattoos are or aren't, how the drawing would probably take longer, a full color tattoo like that likely wouldn't be completed in one sitting...etc. There's so much here that I fudged for the purposes of the fic. Sorry not sorry!

Brendon flexed his arm, watching the ink lines of the mermaid he’d drawn twitch and dance. One of the best parts about working at Decaydance Tattoo was being able to draw all of these things on his arms, hands, legs, stomach, basically whatever parts of bare skin he could find, just to see what the ink would look like. Thus far, he only had one arm actually tattooed, but that was because he found himself incredibly picky about what he actually put on his body. 

That didn’t mean he wouldn’t tattoo whatever walked through the door. He was an amazing artist and had an intensely loyal following. Brendon’s calendar was usually booked up months in advance. He’d had a cancellation today, though—poor Hayley had sounded so upset when she called to cancel, but she was also sicker than sick and there were rules—and he was fiddling around with some of the more “traditional” tattoo designs, looking to see if it would dance the way all those old stories about sailors making their mermaids dance were true. 

The bell tinkling over the door made him look up just as he figured out how to get his mermaid’s hips and torso to move separately. In walked the prettiest man he’d ever seen, and Brendon stared for several long moments in shock. Soft brown hair fell over one eye for a moment before being pushed back and patted back into a smooth natural pompadour. Sharp blue eyes took in every element of the shop, and the resting bitch face was absolutely beautifully epic. 

And then he smiled at Ian sitting at the reception desk and Brendon felt his heart stop. The smile was sunshine. It was kittens purring. It was puppies playing. It was a full symphony orchestra playing while butterflies exploded from everywhere and rainbows spanned the sky. 

Brendon was in love. 

“Urie!” the sharpness in Ian’s voice (unusual in and of itself) brought Brendon back down to earth with a thump. “I know you’ve got a few hours before your next appointment. Would you be willing to work with Mr. Smith?” The look on Ian’s face told Brendon that Ian knew exactly what Brendon was thinking and he was going to catch hell for it later. 

Brendon looked up into the face of the prettiest man and almost gulped at the arched eyebrow and return of the resting bitch face. He was in so much trouble. “Sure! Have a seat, Mr. Smith. I’m Brendon Urie, pleasure to meet you.” He gestured to the chair he vacated quickly. 

“Spencer, please. I know you by reputation, Mr. Urie. I was...very pleased that you actually had an opening today. I expected to be making an appointment for several months from now.” 

“Usually, you would be,” Brendon said without any pride. It was simply a fact at this point. “And please, if I’m calling you Spencer, call me Brendon. What did you have in mind?” 

“Well,” and Spencer started telling a story about why he played the drums and how his teenage dreams of being in a rock band hadn’t quite panned out the way he expected, but he wanted to commemorate that somehow, and he’d gotten as far as involving a drum set, but beyond that…

As Spencer talked, Brendon grabbed a sketchpad and a pencil and started working. This was how he did best: listening to customers talk about their passions and dreams, and drawing a tattoo to match what they desired. It was one of the reasons why people came to him. He could often articulate what they couldn’t via his art. 

He looked up at Spencer speculatively. “Where were you thinking of having this tattoo?” he asked. It would change the layout of what he was thinking depending on the location, but he thought he had a good idea. “And what did you want color wise?” 

“I figured I’d go for here, on my left bicep,” and Spencer shrugged out of his suit jacket and lifted the sleeve of his tee-shirt to reveal a pale but muscular looking expanse of arm. Brendon tried very, very hard not to squeak, moan, or otherwise embarrass himself. He was a professional. “And honestly, whatever colors you think.” 

Brendon nodded, studying Spencer’s arm for a moment to gauge the space he had to work with, and went back to his sketch pad. It didn’t take him too much longer before he was turning the pad toward Spencer. “So, I was thinking we could do these in a warm brown,” he indicated the drums, “with a yellow underlighting to make it seem like they were glowing. These ribbons here,” and he pointed to the ones curling around the drums, “in crimson, this top hat in black with red diamonds, and the flowers down here in probably reds to match the rest. What do you think?” 

Spencer stared at the drawing, tracing his fingers very lightly over the top hat perched jauntily on the hi-hat of the drum kit, down over the ribbon that twined around everything and encircled the whole tattoo, and paused at the profusion or roses at the bottom. “How did you do that?” he murmured, eyes not leaving the page. “It’s like...it’s like you sat down with Ryan and opened his brain and knew everything he had packed in there.” He turned his gaze up to Brendon, and smiled. “It’s perfect.” 

Brendon’s heart stopped. He couldn’t breathe. The smile was even warmer, brighter, more perfect than it had been when unleashed on Ian. The eyes were sparkling with joy and warmth. It made Spencer even prettier, and Brendon was positive he was going to embarrass himself. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah…” The two men stared at each other for a long breathless moment that seemed to stretch out forever. And then Spencer blinked and sat back in the chair, and Brendon felt oddly bereft. “Yeah, this really is...this is perfect.” 

“Awesome.” Brendon reached for a sheet of the transfer paper so he could start properly drawing the design out. “This will take me...let’s say half an hour to be safe. You can either stay here or go grab something to eat if you haven’t eaten yet. There’s an awesome taco joint on the corner. Their carnitas tacos are to die for and their horchata is absolute heaven.” 

Spencer pushed himself up out of the chair. “I’ll do that, just to make sure I don’t pass out on you.” He smirked at Brendon, who laughed, and sauntered toward the front of the store. Brendon deliberately turned so he didn’t stare at Spencer’s ass as he walked out of the shop, and started to carefully draw out the design on the transfer paper. 

By the time he had the design transferred over, his pots with the colors he would need, and all of the other paraphernalia of his trade, Brendon had managed to calm himself down and hit more of the zone he found himself in when he tattooed. He knew he would need it. Just as he finished, Spencer walked up to his station. He smiled up at Spencer, determinedly ignoring the thump his heart gave. He just _met_ the guy, this was ridiculous. 

“Ready?” Spencer asked, stopping by the chair. 

Brendon patted the seat and turned to grab his gloves. “Now, this is small enough that we could theoretically get this done in one sitting, even with the color changes. However, I want you to be honest with me about whether or not you can handle it and if you need breaks. We can do this in a few pieces if necessary.” 

Spencer, settling himself in the tattoo chair and rolling up the sleeve of his tee shirt, nodded. “I have a pretty high pain tolerance, but I promise I’ll be honest. Is this okay?” 

Brendon gently maneuvered Spencer’s arm where he wanted it and reached for the soap. He talked as he prepped, telling Spencer every step of what he was doing, checking to make sure the placement was exactly what was wanted, and that the final design was correct. As he peeled away the transfer paper, Spencer looked down at his arm. 

“This is going to be amazing,” he said quietly. He looked up at Brendon. “Thank you.” 

Brendon grinned at him as he picked up his tattoo gun. “Don’t thank me yet...but you’re welcome.” 

The buzzing of the tattoo gun worked its usual magic on Brendon, and he quickly fell into the zone he usually occupied while tattooing. He worked his way across Spencer’s design drawing in all the linework first. That way, if Spencer couldn’t handle doing more, the base would be in place. He was dimly aware of Spencer watching the process, but all of his attention was on the skin in front of him and the black lines slowly swallowing the purple transfer ink. 

Some unregistered stretch of time later, Brendon sat back with one last wipe of his rag, clearing away the excess ink. The full outline of the kit, roses, ribbon, and hat were complete. It looked good. 

“Wow,” Spencer breathed, pulling Brendon’s attention up to his customer’s face. Spencer was open and awed right now, pupils slightly blown from the endorphin rush, but clearly loving what his ink already looked like. “This is...amazing.” 

“Yeah? Good, I’m glad you like it,” Brendon said, putting his gun down and flexing his hands for a moment. “Do you need a break?” He expected Spencer to say yes, so he raised his eyebrows at the head shake. “Are you sure?” 

“Yeah. It hurts, don’t get me wrong, but it’s not as bad as it could be. I’m okay to keep going if you are.” The small, hopeful smile that Spencer gave him made Brendon melt. 

“You got it,” Brendon said. “Just let me know…” 

As it turned out, Spencer didn’t need a break at all. Once the outlining was done, the coloring took time, but it seemed to trigger Spencer’s need to talk. Brendon listened, putting in his own thoughts about this band or that movie or volunteering his favorite food as he worked, but he was mostly content to let Spencer talk. He was articulate and intelligent, and it was wonderful to hear. 

If he was honest with himself, Brendon knew that he could listen to Spencer talk for hours on end. It wasn’t just the sound of his voice (though that was a beautiful thing to behold all on it’s own, and yes, Brendon knew he sounded ridiculous even in his own head). It was that Spencer had not only opinions but information to back them up. He didn’t just say that x thing was good or y thing was bad; he gave specific reasons and details for why he thought so, inviting Brendon to share his own thoughts. It had been a long time since anyone had solicited Brendon’s opinions like that, and not only was it a hell of a turn on, he was discovering, but it was warming and endearing in ways he couldn’t fully explain. 

Brendon was finishing the roses at the bottom, the last thing he needed to complete for Spencer’s tattoo, when Ian popped up next to the cube. “Victoria’s here for her appointment, Bren. How much time do you need?” 

“Five, maybe ten minutes max, Ian,” Brendon said, carefully shading one of the last petals. “Almost done here.” 

“You got it.” Ian disappeared again, but the spell that had settled over the station while Brendon worked on Spencer had dissipated. Brendon was now intensely aware of Spencer’s eyes on him, and he quickly finished up. “There you go,” he said quietly. “Ink done. Let’s get this cleaned up for you.” He suited words to actions, cleaning away the traces of the work he’d done, leaving just the finished tattoo. “What do you think.” 

Spencer looked down at his arm, and then at the mirror Brendon was holding for him. “it’s...Brendon, it’s perfect. It’s even better than I thought it would be. The colors are...so vibrant, so perfect. This is exactly what I wanted. Thank you so much.” He gave Brendon that knee-melting smile again, and Brendon was fervently grateful he was still sitting down. 

“I’m glad,” he started, and then cleared his throat. He’d sounded hoarse, and he hoped that Spencer didn’t pick up on just how _into him_ Brendon was. That was incredibly unprofessional and...well. Just...not good. He could hold it together a little longer, right? “Really, I loved doing this for you. Here’s your after care instructions…” and Brendon went through the steps of how to take care of the new tattoo as he carefully spread the necessary ointment over the art and covered it with the wrap. “Do you have any questions?” 

Spencer hesitated for a moment, and then shook his head. “No, I don’t. This is...thank you for this. Seriously.” He held out his hand, and Brendon took it for a warm, firm handshake. “Thank you.” 

“You’re welcome.” Brendon wanted to say more. It was on the tip of his tongue to ask Spencer out for a drink, to dinner, just for his number, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t bring himself to ask because at the end of the day, this was his job, his livelihood, his career. He loved it. He couldn’t jeopardize it because he lusted after a customer and couldn’t make the boundaries stick. “I hope to see you again.” 

Spencer’s smile turned into a smirk, but he didn’t say anything. He just picked up his jacket and walked away. 

Brendon busied himself with cleaning up his station and prepping it for Victoria when Ian showed up again. “Ian, I’m a fucking idiot,” he groaned. “I’m an absolute fucking idiot and there will never be another man that god damned beautiful and—” he turned around and stopped, staring at Ian who was holding out a white styrofoam cup. “What’s that?”

Ian shoved the cup into Brendon’s hand. “A way for you not to be a fucking idiot, Urie. Victoria said she’ll be back here in two minutes.” And Ian turned and walked away, leaving Brendon looking at the white styrofoam in confusion. What… He took a sip from the straw curiously, and whimpered when the sweet cinnamon-y burst of horchata exploded in his mouth. “Oh…” He could feel something odd under his fingers and turned the cup to see writing. 

_Call or text me. Drinks tonight? - Spencer_ and a phone number. 

Brendon smiled.


End file.
